


i want her long blonde hair, i want her magic touch

by moonmotels



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmotels/pseuds/moonmotels
Summary: to quote our lord and savior lady gaga, "last night, damn you were in my sexxx dreams"
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 23
Kudos: 143





	i want her long blonde hair, i want her magic touch

_She’s wet._

Misty feels it before she sees it, her hand fit snugly between two pale thighs dotted with dark marks of lust and savagery. She’s got her face otherwise occupied, buried in Cordelia’s neck to leave remnants of desire there too. She wants to leave her print all over, so when people look at the _Supreme_ they know exactly who she belongs to. The muscles in her stomach tense and quiver as Misty pushes herself up on her side, running her middle finger over Cordelia's clit just softly enough to make her cry out. Dropping to kiss the warm skin above her beating heart, Misty drags her lips down, down, _down_ , until her mouth replaces her teasing fingers. 

Cordelia gathers her hair in a loose grip, unable to handle the way it tickles her lower stomach. With a simple sigh and undulation of her hips, she succumbs herself to Misty’s mercy fully and wholeheartedly. 

(Tasting Cordelia feels like taking a sip from the fountain of youth - a lifelong desire only appeased at the first drop upon your tongue.)

Licking a slick line over her and savoring the taste, Misty hums into her work, enjoying the way a moan fills her ears and a leg clamps on either side of her head. She’s wanted this so long it feels criminal, an almost visceral need so strong it hurts. Misty doesn’t want this to end. If she could keep Cordelia here, legs trembling and so glistening wet for all of eternity, she wonders what downsides there could possibly be. 

Just as Misty goes to slip two fingers inside of Cordelia, she jolts awake.

It’s early. The sun has barely begun to rise, and Misty is alone. Startled by her surroundings, she flails for a moment before relaxing. Another dream, the third one this month. Maybe her subconscious is cruel, or maybe it’s telling her she should do something about this primal _need_ she has for Cordelia. 

Either way, this always ends the same.

Before she can fully process her emotions on the dream she’s just had, Misty brushes a hand down her torso, taking a journey she really shouldn’t be on. Spreading her thighs just a bit, she inhales sharply when she feels how wet the dream made her. 

Tilting her head back, she slips her hand beneath the waistband and allows recent memories to take over. Swirling over herself with her middle and pointer finger, Misty relaxes back and tries to ignore the fact that Cordelia is just her good _friend_ that she's not allowed to kiss. 

Ignoring that seems to be her greatest accomplishment thus far.

Arching her back, she dips down to gather evidence of her arousal before sliding back up to her clit. Quickly, images of her dream flash behind her eyes. Pink pouted lips frozen in ecstasy, blonde hair fanned across the pillows in her bed, dark eyes watching two fingers slide in and out of her. Like a movie projected behind her eyelids, the pornographic scenes pass by in broken segments, each one more arousing than the rest. In her dream, Misty already had Cordelia on her back and begging for mercy. What she really wants, ( _craves_ ) are the moments leading up. Hot kisses all tongue and teeth, wandering touches, the full reveal of Cordelia undressing for her slowly and methodically. The calm before the storm. 

Just as Cordelia unclasps her bra in Misty’s mind, she sends herself over the edge with images of perky pink nipples and the feel of teeth nipping at her throat. Biting back a gasp that threatens to expose her, Misty jerks her hips erratically until she finally slows her pace and rubs less direct circles.

In the following moments, Misty only has a few fleeting seconds of bliss before shame and embarrassment sets in. Getting herself off to Cordelia always feels good in the moment, because if she can’t actually have her, isn’t this the next best option? On the other hand, Cordelia is merely her friend. Someone in her life, who, on all accounts, is seemingly fine with the distance they keep from each other. And if nothing will ever happen, Misty has to fill the void in other ways. 

Or so her subconscious believes.

Stretching her achy limbs out, Misty swipes her wet fingers off on her pajama shorts before shimmying them down and tossing them across the room towards the laundry basket. Lying starfish on her small twin sized bed, she allows herself to dwell on what recent events may mean. Knowing, of course, that she is hopelessly devoted to Cordelia in every parallel universe and timeline. It makes her feel guilty and vulnerable, but at the same time it feels so _good_. 

For the better half of the morning, Misty mourns the _what ifs_ and celebrates what she does have. Which is this - Cordelia at arms length, her warm smiles and gracious, sweet praises whenever Misty does a spell right or gets their homemade pasta sauce perfect. Being here, being home in the warm embrace of their tight knit family feels like a dream in which she’d never like to wake up. The problem is - she’s always missing something.

The pungent smell of coffee rises through the floorboards, prompting Misty to pull on a skirt and tank top, sans bra. Down the stairs and into the kitchen, she greets Coco, then Zoe and Cordelia who are working at the stove to make breakfast. 

“Where’s the rest of the stampede?” Misty questions, popping a fresh cherry between lips. 

Cordelia turns from the stove at the right time, watching Misty push the plump fruit between her lips. Gathering herself, she rigidly answers, “They’re all having brunch on Bourbon as a treat from Mallory and Queenie. They're taking them on a day trip. It’s only the four of us and Madison left.”

Misty hums, preoccupied with the mug of tea sitting on the counter waiting for her. If she had to guess, it came from said subject of all her dreams, both real and the ones locked behind steel doors. A pit of something nauseating and bold from her morning rendezvous lodges in her stomach, making her dodge the press of Cordelia’s hand on her lower back, barely registering the gentle ask if she’d like eggs or pancakes.

“Both,” she says plainly, moving so that she’s sitting beside Coco and nowhere near Cordelia’s general vicinity. When the food is done, Cordelia plates her a large portion and sets in front of her.

Misty barely lifts her head in reply, simply picking up her fork. Coco eyes the interaction between them suspiciously before interjecting, “What, I don’t get special treatment around here?”

Cordelia blinks, unable to form a reasoning behind her ever persistent need to take care of Misty as though she’s incapable of handling herself.

“Shut up, Co,” Misty says through a mouthful of pancakes.

“I’m just saying,” Coco retorts. When she returns with her plate of food, she does not miss the way Cordelia sits near Misty, crossing her legs delicately and settling herself like a lady. She also does not miss the way Misty scoots closer to the opposite side of the table. 

Zoe is miraculously the first to speak, complimenting Cordelia on the breakfast and asking what she’s doing for the day.

Classy as always, Cordelia finishes chewing before replying, “It’s the first day in a while I have some free time. I might garden, or finish my book.” She directs her gaze towards Misty. “Did you want to help me plant some vegetables? I think we have perennial seeds too.”

Misty would love to. She’d kill for ten uninterrupted seconds with Cordelia on any day and in any capacity. Just as she goes to respond affirmatively, a wave of shame rushes over, painting her cheeks red and flushed. It’s probably best she doesn’t spend alone time with her. “Nah, I’m good.”

Cordelia knits her brows slightly, just quick enough that Misty catches it before she ducks her head down and mumbles a saddened _okay_ in reply.

Peeling a banana with carefully manicured nails, Coco eyes the wide space between them, shooting Zoe a look that screams _what the fuck_? Zoe simply shrugs and shakes her head in a motion that tells Coco not to meddle in the situation. Misty and Cordelia are an enigma, one Zoe simply does not have the ability to deconstruct. If they’re happy doing this two person dance where neither makes a move, then what’s the point in trying to change that?

What Coco loves, though, is getting straight to the bottom of things.

“So, Mist, if you’re not gonna help Cords garden what are you doing today?”

Misty looks at her with hooded eyes, slowly bringing her head up in an attempt to seem interested in the conversation. “Dunno, I might read a book or watch a movie.”

“You wanna get high with me and watch cartoons?”

“Coco,” Cordelia warns.

“What?” she shoots back. “You’re welcome to join us Miss Supreme. God knows you could use an afternoon of relaxation.”

Misty sits with one knee pulled to her chest, calmly watching their interaction. “Don’t think she wants to, Co,” she finally chuckles, untangling her long limbs and moving from the table.

Halfway towards the kitchen, she hears Cordelia ask, “How would you know?”

“‘Scuse me?” Misty turns sideways and glances back.

Cordelia looks at her fiercely now, and there’s a ball of tangible energy lit like a match between them. “I said, how would you know how I wish to spend my time?”

“Doesn’t seem like ya thing, that’s all. Don’t get your panties all in a’ twist.”

“I wasn’t. You just seem to be hell bent on being snarky with me this morning, and I’m frankly not in the mood.”

“Yeah,” Misty sneers sarcastically, “we can tell.”

Before their snappy little conversation can go any further, Zoe oddly pipes up. “Guys, why don’t we get drinks tonight? Everyone could use a little space this afternoon, and then we’ll have a quiet night out since the girls are gone”

Coco snorts, opening her mouth to reply when Cordelia interrupts. “That sounds wonderful, Zoe. What time?”

For a moment the three are silent, unable to process that Cordelia actually wants to do this. She’s usually much more comfortable pretending to be annoyed with them when they come home stumbling around two in the morning. “Oh, uh, like nine? Is that good with you guys? I’ll ask Madison too.”

“Sounds like a fuckin’ plan to me.” Trying to tramp down incessant thoughts that threaten to make her cry, Misty throws her empty plate in the sink and begins the slow day ahead of her.

Four hours later, flopped on the couch, reading the same sentence in her book over and over, Misty is startled to hear someone approaching. Sinking down into the cushions, she’s relieved to recognize the footsteps as Coco and not another blonde angel that lives in this house and her heart.

Popping her head over the couch, Coco grins and holds out a joint between two thin fingers. “Get up, bitch.”

“I don’t feel like it, Co.”

“What else are you doing? Spending your day lying here and pining? At least get high first.”

“You’re annoying.”

Coco raises her eyebrows in mock offence, lifting her hands in surrender. “Fine, lie here and wallow in self pity for all I care. I’ll smoke this myself.”

“Wait,” Misty raises her head off the pillow, “can we make snacks afterwards?”

“Oh, _baby_ , of course we can.”

Under the porch roof, swinging back and forth on the two person swing, Misty rests her head back and blows out a steady cloud of smoke. It dissipates cleanly into the mist rising off the ground, damp and wet from the rain tapping steadily above their heads.

“S’good shit, Co.”

“Courtesy of Madison and whatever trust fund college boy she’s been stringing along.” Coco blows out a similar cloud, lying her head down to rest her cheek on the cool skin of Misty’s thigh. Absentmindedly, Misty begins scratching at her head until Coco melts into the touch as if they’re one body.

“Coco?”

“Yes babe.” Coco’s eyes flutter closed and her lips pucker open as the weed overtakes her senses.

“Do you ever dream about people?”

“I dream about getting dick from Idris Elba all the time,” Coco chuckles mostly to herself, her shoulders rising and falling in amusement.

“No, like, ‘bout someone you know.”

“Not really,” she takes another hit, handing the joint back to Misty. “Why, do you?”

“What if I told y’somethin’, and you weren’t allowed to tell anyone else, could you manage that?”

Coco rolls her eyes. “Nobody trusts me with their secrets. I know I have a big mouth, but Jesus, come on.”

“I trust you, but you gotta promise.”

Sticking out her pinky finger, reminiscent of a child making a serious promise, Coco solemnly swears, “I won’t tell a soul.”

Misty shifts, suddenly uncomfortable and warm. The drug did a good enough job of dulling her rational senses, allowing her to want to admit this out loud. It’s one thing to admit it to yourself, but saying it to someone else makes it real and frightening. 

“I’ve been having these dreams,” she starts.

“Uh huh.”

“About Cordelia.”

Misty can’t help but laugh when Coco childishly peeks one eye open and looks up, surveying her cautiously. “Do tell.”

“ _Sex_ dreams.”

“Oh,” Coco smirks, “ _oh_ that’s hot. I wanna hear about it. I’ve always wanted to know what Cordelia looks like naked.”

Misty shrinks inwardly, wishing desperately she’d kept her mouth shut. The things she does in those dreams are personal and she’s so, so desperate for them to come true that she would die and resurrect herself again a thousand times over.

Shaking her head with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, Misty whispers, “There’s nothing to tell, I wake up and they’re not real and that’s that.”

Coco inhales deeply as though contemplating the best way to handle this. Letting the smoke out and coughing harshly for a moment, she finally says, “Scale of one to ten, how vivid are these?”

“Ten. It’s like I feel her, y’know? I can almost reach out n' actually touch her.”

“Shit,” Coco sucks in a breath, “that’s bad.”

“What? Why?”

“Oh, honey. I love you, but you’re a little dumb sometimes. I think you know what I mean.”

Misty tilts her head back in defeat, her fingers restlessly brushing through Coco’s soft locks of hair. She’s jumpy, antsy, wants to crawl out of her skin and become anyone but herself. “Don’t make me say it,” she pleads.

Coco hums, the vibrations sending a pleasant sensation up Misty’s body. The silence rings in her ears, almost as if mocking her, telling her that she’s too weak to say it. With one tear falling from the corner of her eye, Misty opens her mouth and says, “I think I love her.”

Patting her knee, Coco tries to help. “I know baby, it’s okay. You know that, right? It’ll be okay.”

Misty sniffles, crossing her arms over her chest and hoping desperately when she wakes tomorrow this will all have been a dream. “I guess. Not much I can do ‘bout it.”

“Don’t you think you should tell her?”

“I can’t, Co. She’ll never feel the same.”

“I don’t think that’s,” she pauses, squinting as if trying to pinpoint the right string of words, “I doubt that’s true.”

“She would have done something by now.”

“Well, I guess.”

“So it’s fine, she doesn’t want me,” Misty shrugs. “I’ll get over it.”

Her tone is final, leaving no room for Coco to poke and prod at her for more information. 

“Well, in the meantime, should we get some snacks?”

A smile lights up on Misty’s face. “Yeah, we should.”

After rummaging around in the fridge for a good five minutes, Coco stands and holds out a bunch of ingredients. Misty hops on the counter, swinging her legs and patiently waiting for whatever masterpiece Coco has conjured up. 

“Oh my God, Mist, you have to try this.” Standing in between Misty’s legs, she takes a cherry and sprays whipped cream on it, holding it out until her lips close around the fruit. Misty’s eyes flutter shut, a low sigh escaping on the next breath.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s good.”

A short cough interrupts their intimate moment. Squinting her reddened eyes, Misty slowly turns her head until she sees the source of the sound. Standing there, like an absolute vision, is Cordelia.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says carefully, eyeing the zero space between them. Misty wonders if she wishes to be the one standing between her legs.

Too little, too late.

Coco breaks into a fit of giggles, fisting a handful of Misty’s shirt to steady herself on unbalanced feet. Misty follows right behind, unable to contain her own laughter at the situation. The fact that she’s just confessed everything that weighs heavily on her heart and now that they’re here; in the same room as Cordelia, just seems like the funniest thing in the world right now.

She has to laugh, otherwise she’ll cry.

Taking some fresh squeezed grapefruit juice from the fridge, Cordelia pours herself a glass and sips it with pink lips curled around the rim. Misty wishes, fleetingly, that she was that glass.

“Honestly, could you two find something more constructive to do with your time?” she says out of nowhere.

Coco snorts, uprighting herself. “What?”

“I’d like it if we could set a better example for our younger girls.”

Coco looks comically around the kitchen, gesturing vaguely to the empty space. “I’m sure we’ve corrupted them beyond repair.”

Misty can’t help the giggles that spill out again, stopping immediately when Cordelia glares at her. Something in her gut coils and twists with the way she looks so disappointed in her. That’s the last thing she’d ever want. If she reached out right now, with burnt fingertips, she knows she’d only be met by the flames radiating off Cordelia’s body.

“Truly, I’d expect this behavior from Madison or another younger girl, but you two? Come on you guys.”

“Sorry,” Misty tries lamely.

Coco grabs a bag of tortilla chips from the pantry before tugging Misty away by the wrist. 

“Our _bad_ Miss Supreme. Wouldn’t wanna traumatize the girls by eating some snacks.”

When nine rolls around, Misty has nearly had it. She’s been antsy all day, ducking corners and slipping around like a slithery snake to avoid Cordelia. It’s not that she wants to, but more that she _has_ to, especially after this afternoon. Things are better this way, with a strict invisible barrier between them, the same one that encloses each of their hearts away from unimaginable pain.

Dressed in a loosely fitted pale blue a-line dress that falls just above her knees, Misty begrudgingly stuffs her feet into a pair of sandals and hopes Madison holds back snarky commentary. After attempting to smooth down her hair unsuccessfully, she slides on her rings and takes a quick look at herself before descending the stairs. Everyone else is already at the kitchen island, holding shot glasses and looking more than ready for a night out.

Everyone, except Cordelia. 

Taking a drink from Madison, Misty sits cross-legged on the stool and takes it down with a straight face. If she’s going to be spending a night in a crowded bar with Cordelia, she might as well gain something from it.

“I heard you and Cordy had a little cat fight earlier, swampy. So sad I missed it.”

“Sorry ya missed it too, Hollywood. Too busy clawin’ your way up the D-list?”

Madison scoffs. “I hope whoever told you that you’re funny is taken out to the swamps and left there for dead.”

“Cute,” Misty sneers, taking another drink from Coco. Fighting with Madison comes so naturally to them, it’s either this or they’re sharing a joint on the porch late at night, swapping stories about the other girls and how weird they can be. It’s a fun, symbiotic relationship. 

Just as she goes to nonchalantly ask where exactly Cordelia is, said woman, ( _goddess_ ) walks into the room. In her four inch expensive looking heels, she’s just about Misty’s height. Perfect for stealing kisses without having to bend down, she thinks. Quickly, she tosses that idea to the back of her mind before she ruminates on it too long. Doing so would only add more weight to the mountain of stress that sits heavily on her chest. Dressed in a pair of high waisted black pants and a sheer blouse that ruffles slightly at the collar, Cordelia looks radiant.

A dream come true. One of the less obscene ones.

“Hi girls,” she greets.

They all echo a similar greeting, except for Misty who is much more invested in dabbing the drop of whiskey off the fabric at her knee. When she catches Cordelia glancing at her, a longing look filled with years of unspoken emotion, it takes everything in them both to look away. 

“Cords, I have tequila for you,” Coco produces a bottle from somewhere, holding it out mischievously. 

Reaching across the table for it, Cordelia is interrupted by Misty stupidly voicing her thoughts out loud. “She prefers silver.”

Snatching the bottle from Coco, Cordelia miffs, “I like gold just fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“I wasn’t worrying.”

“Great.”

“Great,” Misty repeats, shifting so that her legs are crossed. Cordelia really doesn’t stare at the way her dress slides up her thighs.

“So what’s this thing happening here? Some sort of lesbian foreplay?” Madison, like usual, is the first one drunk and always the last one standing. Tonight is no exception.

“Fuck off Madison,” Misty snaps. She’s already tired of this. Since she’s deemed it necessary to avoid Cordelia and keep her at arm’s length, nothing has been going right. It’s frustrating that Cordelia is taking her distance the wrong way. Doesn’t she know the consequences of every touch? Of every lingering glance? The way Cordelia unknowingly seeks her out in crowded rooms? It has to haunt her at night. It certainly haunts Misty. There is no cure, it’s either complete separation or the dark and vast unknown of finding out what would happen if they let this thing consume them fully.

And Misty really isn’t sure Cordelia is ready to find out where that path would lead.

So truly, this is for her own benefit. It makes Misty mad she can’t see that.

“No, really, are you guys gonna act catty all night and then fuck it out? That’d really help the rest of us, Cordy. You need to get laid.”

“Madison,” Cordelia says evenly, “if you could hold back comments on things you know nothing about, I’d really appreciate that.”

Madison would love to reply, but Zoe shuts her up with a shot glass and warning squeeze on her knee.

When they’re all sufficiently filled on alcohol and snacks, Coco ushers them into the car waiting out front. Usually, Misty sits as close as possible to Cordelia; wants to melt into her body like a wine stain on a dress. Tonight, she squeezes next to Zoe and Madison, leaving Cordelia up front to keep Coco from making a fool of herself to the driver.

A cool palm lands on her thigh, too lanky and thin to be Cordelia’s. Misty would know, she’s studied Cordelia’s fingers on several different occasions. “Are you okay?” the owner of said hand whispers.

“Yeah, Zo, I’m cool,” she replies, forcing a fake smile. She’s okay if you would consider being in an unrequited romance something normal and not at all the tragic narrative it actually is. 

“She’s fine,” Madison snaps, “all she needs is some pussy.”

Misty swears she can see Cordelia’s ears perk up from two seats ahead. “Maybe,” she finds herself agreeing. Her eyes close and all she feels is the steady beat of her heart and rain pelting down the car window.

The bar is crowded, but not enough that Misty has to be pressed body to body with anyone. For that, she’s thankful for small miracles. Coco takes her hand as they duck and weave towards the bar, people bumping up against her here and there. Zoe and Madison make a beeline towards a group of college-age boys, leaving the three to sit at the empty bar. When they make it on the stool, Misty drops Coco’s hand, partially because she’s hot, mostly because there’s a dejected look on Cordelia’s face. 

Misty wonders if she hurts, too, knowing there’s a wall between them. 

Coco orders them all shots, ignoring feeble protests and excuses. When the glasses are empty, Cordelia strangely orders herself a whiskey, smiling shamelessly at the bartender who pays her extra attention. Heat simmers cautiously in Misty’s body, rising with every flirty interaction Cordelia and this girl have. 

“Girl’s night out?” The bartender, Megan, speaks through red lips and wandering eyes. She’s pretty. Curly brown hair and dark hazel eyes, a charming voice and curves that make her stand out.

“Something of the sort,” Cordelia answers. “I’ve had a long week.”

“What do you do?” Megan ignores the customers at the other end of the bar, prompting her coworker to pick up slack. She’s too busy dropping her chin in her palms, leaning over the counter to nestle herself in Cordelia’s personal space. 

Misty’s shocked, when Cordelia leans in too. It’s like she’s watching a snake in the grass, slithering up without a sound until it gathers the perfect moment to strike when no one is watching. If snakes had plump lips that hide razor sharp teeth and a sparkle in their eye.

“I’m a headmistress at a school for girls. Long days, longer nights.”

“That’s kinda sexy,” Megan grins. When Misty clears her throat, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Megan peels her eyes off Cordelia and seems annoyed by the interruption.

“These your friends?”

Cordelia nods. “Coco and Misty.”

“Well, Coco and Misty, can I get y’all anything? You two make a cute couple, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Misty feels flush, looking down at Coco’s palm resting on her thigh. “No,” she says curtly, “we’re fine.” She feels worse, when Cordelia makes no move to correct her. Coco’s busy texting someone, unaware of the wrecking ball that’s just been taken to Misty’s carefully crafted exterior.

There’s really no point in changing Megan’s mind, either, not when she sets down another glass in front of Cordelia and winks, saying it’s on the house.

They chat back and forth, swapping flirty comments and charming smiles, all the while Misty dies inside.

The cumulative moment when the dam finally breaks is Megan hastily writing down her number and sliding it towards Cordelia when her manager calls for her. Misty opens her mouth to screech at the top of her lungs, her body shaking with uncontrollable rage and sadness. Coco, usually oblivious to all signs, watches the way blood drains from Misty's face as Cordelia folds the paper carefully and slips it into her purse with a sly grin.

Quickly, Coco hooks an arm around Misty’s elbow and forces her off the stool. Tossing a simple, “We’ll be back,” she tugs her towards the quiet bathroom before Misty gets them all arrested.

Practically shoved into the stall, Misty splays a palm across the cool tile wall to feel something tangible and real. Hyperventilating rapidly, she hunches over in fear she’ll actually begin crying in front of Coco.

With a gentle palm rubbing her back, Coco soothes as best she can in her own drunken state. “Babe, it’s okay, Cords probably isn’t gonna text her. She’s not even that cute,” she stresses. 

“Oh my _God_ , Co,” Misty wails.

“It’s okay,” she repeats, “you have to relax. Take a deep breath.”

Misty would love to - honestly. If only her number one reason for breathing wasn’t currently getting preyed upon by cute bartenders with kind eyes and a sweet smile.

“I can’t,” she cries. On cue, tears slip from behind eyelids until her vision is blurry and everything within a three foot radius becomes imperceptible. “Coco I’m in love with her. I can't do this anymore. She doesn’t want me.” The shitty wall she’d put up around her heart has now been carelessly cast aside. There is nothing now. She is vulnerable and so, _so_ exposed. It doesn’t feel better, in fact it doesn’t feel as if anything monumental at all has occurred. 

Truthfully, she feels worse.

Especially when the bathroom door swings open just as Coco soothingly takes her cheeks between palms.

Misty’s heart sinks when she hears her name brokenly called. With blurred eyes, she finds Cordelia looking confused back at her.

She looks like she wants to step further into the room, but she won’t. Not with how Coco has Misty in her arms and the tears are still spilling from her eyes. Their embrace feels familiar and all too intimate for Cordelia to want to interrupt for the second time today. “What happened?” she finally asks, shutting the door behind her for some semblance of privacy.

Coco gives Misty a look that says to _tell her_ , but instead, she pushes past the both of them and disappears back into the now crowded room.

Going to follow, Coco is halted by Cordelia snatching her arm. Yanking away, Coco continues trying to leave when the door locks with a flick of Cordelia wrist.

Turning on her heel, Coco crosses her arms around herself and tilts her head condescendingly. “What?”

Cordelia blinks slowly, determining the best course of action here. Setting her jaw, she evenly asks, “What was that all about?”

“Dunno, why don’t you go text your friend Megan and find out.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s Coco’s apathetic tone, but Cordelia finds the room to be closing in slowly. Resting her back against the wooden door, she tries again. “Coco, I want you to tell me what that was about. Megan has nothing to do with this and you know that.”

Releasing an incredulous snort, Coco jabs her sharply on the collarbone. “I love you to death, but honest to God you’re so fucking dense sometimes.” 

“I don’t have a single idea what you could be on about.”

(The thing is - she does. Cordelia is too cowardly to have this conversation with Misty, so this is likely the better option. She knows what she’s asking for. She always does.)

“You amaze me,” Coco shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know how you live like this.”

“Live like what?” Cordelia feels a migraine coming on.

“It’s not my place to say anything.”

Cordelia is desperately grasping at straws now. If she doesn’t have answers soon, she feels an emotional storm raging inside of her threatening to explode. “Coco, please.”

“How can you be so blind, Cords? You have Misty in the palm of your hands and you’re acting like she’s replaceable and the poor thing is all bent out of shape.”

“You’re not making any fucking sense,” Cordelia snaps. “I have her bent out of shape?” To her, it’s the complete opposite. Doesn’t Misty know her mere presence is debilitating to Cordelia? She would disband her coven and live out her days worshipping Misty like a God at an alter if she simply requested.

“Yeah,” Coco emphasizes, “she’s been having these sex dreams about you and she’s all confused and having these stupid feelings and you’re making it so fucking _hard_ for her. Read the room sometimes, Jesus.”

Disregarding everything else, Cordelia recoils back like she’d been slapped. “She’s been having what?”

“Oh, fuck me,” Coco smacks her palm to her forehead and moans. All the alcohol swimming in her brain effortlessly allowed her to open her big mouth. “No, no, you weren’t supposed to know that part.”

“What the fuck, Coco?”

Coco finally wrestles her way past Cordelia, scared she’ll start revealing more if kept in this room any longer. “Just - don’t say anything, alright? Don’t make this worse for her.”

Cordelia watches dumbfounded as Coco blends back into the darkened bar, wondering what to do with this myriad of information released upon her. Her mind feels fuzzy, unable to discern one singular emotion now that there are a hundred bouncing back and forth within the space of her brain.

_Misty, sex dream, palm of my hands_ repeats like a mantra in her mind.

On one hand, Cordelia has come to understand that she and Misty’s relationship works at a much more volatile level than the ones she has with her other close friends. It’s messy and untimely and riddled with death and destruction so it only seems on par they’ve come this far without making a move. This thing between them has always operated like a game of cat and mouse. 

They’re always chasing after each other, but nobody ever wins.

The car ride home is incredibly silent, save for Madison and Zoe’s quiet bickering in the back seat. Misty sits with her eyes squeezed shut, hoping for a miracle or some merciful god to strike the ground she walks upon. Cordelia, on the opposite side, sits rigidly with her foot restlessly tapping the floor. Being in Misty’s presence, knowing what she's dreamed about almost feels cruel and inhuman. How is she supposed to look her in the eyes now and not ask to make those dreams a reality?

When the front door swings open, Misty breezes inside and makes a beeline for the kitchen, Coco right on her heels. Zoe and Madison practically race each other up the stairs, giggling and laughing at something Cordelia really does not wish to understand. Debating between going up to her room or facing the unknown in the kitchen, she chooses the easy way out. She always will.

Behind closed doors, Cordelia is a different person. It’s almost as if she’s got two sides to her. An alter ego, maybe. Supreme Cordelia loves power, exudes it so strong it’s remarkable. When she’s alone, ( _alone with Misty_ ) she can be different. Softer around the edges, calm, but still full of self-doubt and hand wringing anxiety. Alone at her vanity, Cordelia takes the day off of her face. Her skin care routine is acknowledged, seen through, and perfected with the years of practice she’s had. She may be drunk, but Cordelia loves following simple steps. Perhaps that’s why she’s never veered off track and whisked Misty into her arms; it’s not on the agenda to open her heart up so recklessly.

Throwing her pants on the ground, she climbs into her four poster bed and hopes in the morning she’ll care a little more about her clothing. Her shirt is treated with less reverence, her fingers working to practically pop buttons off until it lay fanned out beside her. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s recent information that’s come to light, but she feels hot all over.

She wonders now; in her darkened room, what Misty’s dreams consist of. Cordelia subconscious plays a similar sick game, where she and Misty are alone in open meadows full of flowers, birds above their heads and streams trickling slowly by. Fingers interlaced and limbs intertwined as they lie together in peaceful harmony while the sun goes down around them. It’s almost safe to fall into these figments of imagination, because it is the only reprieve she has from the abysmal fact that Misty seemingly wants nothing to do with her lately. 

Slinging her forearm across her forehead, Cordelia sighs and tries not to dwell on how Misty’s dealt with these dreams. If the way she would deal with them is any indication, it’s no wonder Misty has been avoiding her. Shifting uncomfortably, warmth spreading across her lower stomach, Cordelia is suddenly very aware that the imagery of Misty getting off to her dreams is something very, very intriguing.

To ease her mind, she blames it on the alcohol.

Just as she ponders settling her hand snug between thighs and slipping two ( _three_ ) fingers inside herself, there’s a soft knock at the door. Rolling her eyes to the ceiling with a loud huff, she careens off the side of her bed and slips into the robe on the back of her bathroom door.

Momentarily blinded by the bright hallway lights, she is greeted by the scent of lavender and patchouli, immediately recognizing her late night visitor.

“Yes, Misty?”

Despite recent events, Cordelia can’t help that her voice goes soft around the edges. Above all things she feels for Misty, love takes the number one spot by far. What a terrible shame it’s never the right time to say so.

“Can I come in?”

Cordelia’s body reacts before her mind can, stepping back to allow God’s greatest gift to enter the room. Wringing her hands out nervously, she fidgets for a moment before sitting on the edge of her bed. Misty trails slowly across the hardwood floor in bare feet, running her finger along the wall until she reaches the window seat and folds herself up in it.

Clearing her throat, Cordelia asks, “Did you need something?”

“Dunno. I’m a little drunk.”

“Yeah,” Cordelia looks down at her lap and scoffs, “me too.”

“Might make this a lil’ easier then.”

Cordelia neglects to answer, much more interested in stopping her foot from tapping a hole through the floor.

“I know that you know,” Misty says out of nowhere, and with the way her tone drops, they both understand what she means.

Cordelia tests the waters, hoping for some sort of reaction, but Misty is busy staring out the window like she’d kill to be anywhere but here. Playing dumb, she responds, “And what exactly do I know?”

Misty finally looks at her now, an entire universe of emotion flashing behind her eyes. The dark shadows obscure most of her, with the only source of light coming from the moon. It makes her look ethereal. She glows. The sharp curves of her face look more prominent and soft, enough that Cordelia’s fingers twitch and ache to walk over and run them over her jawline.

But she doesn’t. Perhaps she never will.

“Coco told me what she said to you.” Hugging her knees to her chest, Misty regresses to an almost childlike pose, where she looks so vulnerable and tiny. “Guess I jus wanted to hear your thoughts on that.”

“I’m not sure I have any.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Misty laughs sarcastically. “Guess I didn’t need to convince myself to come up here then.”

“Misty, I -“ Cordelia pauses, fighting the incredible urge to release guttural scream. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I just want to know if this hurts you, too.” Misty looks at her again gravely, and there’s years of pent up emotion spilling out little by little. “‘Cause it really fuckin’ hurts me.”

“Of course it hurts me. I have been hurting since the day you left my arms.”

It’s the truth, albeit slightly off base. How can she tell Misty that she has been hurting her whole life, and that pain only perished when she held Misty in her arms for the first time?

“Cordelia, you-” Misty shakes her head. “I don’t know how you're okay with this.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“And your best is what? Leavin’ me on the sidelines like a wounded animal?”

“That’s not - no, Mist. How could you think that? You mean something ( _everything_ ) to me.”

“Sure feels like I’m the dirt beneath your feet some days.”

Cordelia hunches her shoulders, letting her head fall. This conversation is going so wrong. Misty has convinced herself that Cordelia no longer needs her, when that is not the truth. She is so tired of this narrative. Misty deserves to know that she is the air in her lungs and the steady beat that makes her heart pump every hour of the day. She is everything to Cordelia, and nothing in this world could ever change that. Misty could be taken from her a million times over, and Cordelia would fight to find her every single time without batting an eyelash.

“I’m a coward,” she finally says. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

Misty snorts, swiping the back of her hand across a wet cheek. “Coulda fooled me.”

“I don’t know how I can have you, lose you, and then not lose my mind afterwards. How could anybody survive that?”

“You haven’t even tried,” she whispers. 

_Haven’t even tried having me_ , she wants to say, but Cordelia knows. Cordelia always knows.

“Aren’t you scared?” Cordelia’s hostile tone surprises the both of them.

“‘Course I’m scared,” Misty snaps back. “But lovin’ you is the only thing I know how to do. How can I ignore somethin’ that comes jus’ as easy as breathing?”

It’s finally there, out in the open for Cordelia to take and do with as she pleases. No big explosion happens, the words simply float in the space between them like it’s meant to be released from Misty’s heart this entire time. Nothing feels different, they’re both still breathing and rooted firmly to this earth.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” she continues. “I’m home. I’m not leaving you again. You need to accept that.”

_Home_. The world falls off Misty’s tongue beautifully. Cordelia wonders, briefly, if Misty knows her actual home is enclosed within the four chambers of her heart.

“I can’t. Not if I wake up one morning and you’re gone again.”

“So you won’t even let yourself try? For me?” 

“I would give you anything you’d ever ask for. You know that.”

“All I’m askin’ for is you.”

Cordelia would love to give herself over to Misty fully. She would. But the years of pent up self-doubt and anxiety rise in her chest, preventing her from doing so. It’s so tiring, fighting these demons every hour of the day. Misty deserves more from her, she really does.

She’s tired of grasping for straws. It’s now or never, and Cordelia is done battling her own mind. 

“I do love you,” she admits shyly, and it’s finally like the skies have opened up and the sun shines upon their skin; radiant and warm. That’s all she feels - warm. Full of unbridled power. There is so much potential for it to hurt, but it doesn't. She feels complete.

Misty smiles for the first time all night, and it’s beautiful. She is every dream come true in the form of an angel.

“That wasn’t so damn hard, was it?”

Cordelia drops her face to her palms and sharply laughs. Nothing could have prepared her for this moment. Her life has been split even down the middle now, this secret finally gaining its glorious independence from where it’s been locked away for years.

Momentarily started by the feel of cold hands on her wrists, she allows them to be tugged away from her face. Looking up, she has to blink in an effort to convince herself she isn’t dreaming.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” the angel is speaking, and honestly, she could be asking for anything and Cordelia would be scrambling to give it to her. “You don’t have to be scared ‘nymore.”

Cordelia closes her eyes and nods, feeling tears leak out and spill down her cheeks. Misty leans down and kisses her face, feels the warmth beneath her lips; tastes the saltiness of her skin. When she finally kisses her mouth, it’s oddly reminiscent of the gates of Heaven opening up to welcome her home. If being in Misty’s arms feels this good, Cordelia isn’t sure that whatever waits in the afterlife could be any better.

“I love you,” Misty is whispering against her mouth, and Cordelia parts her lips to swallow those words up and keep them inside forever. She, too, whispers it back, means it more than anything she’s ever meant in her life. Cordelia has fought, kicked, and screamed to be where she is right now, and it’s making her head spin. Gently, she’s pressed back on the mattress as Misty lowers them down. Her body melts into Cordelia’s, making them one form.

Cordelia isn’t sure she’d ever be coerced into moving from this position. Misty’s lips are pliant and comforting, allowing Cordelia to really take her time kissing them. They’ve spent so long dodging this, after all, so it’s only fair she explores every inch. Her fingers tense and relax along Misty’s spine, dragging them up and down over every ridge in a delirious pattern. Suddenly, she wants to see more of her. 

Half sitting up on her elbows, Cordelia reluctantly breaks away from Misty’s mouth with a soft pop. “I can’t -” she blinks rapidly, “I can’t let myself go too far with you.”

Misty’s hand slides slowly along the collar of her robe, takes the loose tie in between fingers and tugs it a little until beautiful soft skin is revealed. Coyly, she asks, “What if I wanted to go too far?”

Sighing, Cordelia reclines back against soft pillows. If you’d told her this morning that she’d be in this bed fourteen hours later with Misty, she may have laughed incredulously in your face. Misty crawls up beside her, fully untying her robe now with rapid pace. When the fabric falls to either side, Misty seems enthralled by the freckles dotting her chest.

With a cheeky smile, she asks, “Can I have you?”

Reaching up, Cordelia threads a shaky hand through wild curls. Finding her voice, she confirms, “You’ve always had me.” 

Sitting up, she helps Misty shuck the robe off and toss it to the side. Left in her bra and underwear, she lies spread out like a gift for Misty to cherish.

When Misty tentatively touches her between her legs, the air leaves her lungs with a sharp exhale. 

“Were you thinking about my dreams?”

Cordelia closes her eyes and lets the serenity seep through every pore in her body. “Yes, I was.”

Misty toys with her, running her palms up and down her waist in a frighteningly arousing pattern. “Would you like to hear about them?”

Taking her whine as confirmation, Misty grins. Chuckling as she nips at her chest, gently kissing down to her bra, Misty snaps it off from the back and removes it carelessly. “There was one where you were sittin’ pretty on my face. That was a good one.” Her lips continue a smooth trail down her stomach, kissing and nipping where she sees fit.

Gasping as Misty’s fingers trail along her hip and down to the inside of her thigh, Cordelia violently trembles beneath her. Being at Misty’s mercy is a lot like exposing yourself to the elements. It’s unpredictable, wild; leaves her out of breath and irresponsible for the noises she’s making.

“But then there was another where ya were on all fours for me, beggin’ and moanin’ like you couldn’t get enough.”

Cordelia really can’t help it when her hips jackknife as Misty uses her teeth to nibble at her lower stomach. “Misty, please.”

“I think my favorite was the one where you were in my lap, takin’ two fingers and making these cute lil noises.”

“God, _fuck_.”

“Does that sound okay t’you?”

“Yes, please. Please.” Cordelia allows herself to be lifted like a ragdoll and guided to straddle Misty’s lap. Settling down, their foreheads knock together as they both watch Misty’s hand trails over the elastic waistband. Taking that hand, Cordelia guides it inside the wet fabric and leaves it there, dropping her head on a comfortable shoulder as pleasure courses through her veins. Misty wastes no time in teasing, not when her fingers glide so easily over her. One finger slips inside, quickly joined by another as Cordelia releases a soft whine and pushes her hips down into the touch.

“Hard _er_ -“ she gasps, rolling her hips more forcefully now. Chasing the burn just out of reach, she closes her eyes and grips Misty closer; tighter. She needs to feel her body pressed flush to know this isn’t a figment of her imagination.

“More?” Misty asks teasingly, toying another finger between her legs.

“Yes,” she moans back, “yes _please_.”

Taking all three fingers, Cordelia rides at a more incessant pace now, her breath coming out in sharp bursts and needy moans. Misty is completely enamored, wishes she had more hands to touch everywhere she wants.

Deciding, suddenly, that she wants to know what Cordelia sounds like when she comes, Misty applies pressure with her thumb over her clit and brushes her lips across a nipple before sucking it into her mouth completely. Cordelia’s pace falters, her teeth making tiny marks where she’s connected her mouth to the inside of Misty’s neck to muffle her sounds.

With one final grind of her hips and a sob that borderlines on a wail, Cordelia comes on Misty’s hand; magnificently and intensely.

Misty's free palm rubs a steady pattern over her lower back, helping her come down slowly.

“Good?” she asks, but with the way Cordelia’s forehead droops heavily on her shoulder, she already knows the answer.

Fully consumed with pleasure, Cordelia is the holiest and most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She’s radiant. All her power seems to explode within the four walls of the room, making things vibrate and shimmer in the moonlight.

“Jesus,” she finally says.

Misty brings her chin up, angling it for a sweet kiss they both smile into. “You're the prettiest damn thing I ever saw 'n my life.”

Cordelia is busy pressing Misty down on her bed, mumbling _you're so good_ and _I love you, my angel_ , as she passionately kisses down her body. Frantically pushing her dress up and off, Cordelia connects her lips once more to Misty’s collarbone, her braless chest, and the quivering muscles in her torso. Skimming her fingers lightly over her panties, Misty grabs her wrist and requests ( _pleads_ ), “Don’t tease me.”

Lifting her hips to help Cordelia pull them down, Misty is left naked and flushed, the most beautiful thing Cordelia has ever seen.

Situating herself on her stomach, Cordelia crawls between her legs and presses them open so Misty lies spread like a present waiting for her mouth. “Oh, God,” she kisses the inside of each thigh and sighs. “You’re wet.”

Misty hums her agreement, undulating her hips in an effort for Cordelia to continue down. She doesn’t have to wait long, not when Cordelia starts eating her out like she’ll never get enough. 

Almost so wet she’s dripping, Misty really believes she could be embarrassed about that if Cordelia’s tongue didn’t start making a faithful pattern over her clit. Placing one palm to spread her open wider, she dives back in until Misty's legs shake and her moans get caught in the back of her throat.

Cordelia can feel Misty’s heel dig into her back, fingernails scratching at her scalp, and the quivering thighs on either side of her head; but she does not let that distract her. Matching the rise and fall of Misty’s hips with her mouth, she sucks Misty’s clit between her lips and relishes the sharp cries floating down the bed.

Both of her hands snake around her thighs to keep Misty’s lower half down on the bed, holding her in place until she’s crying out symphonies and then coming hard all over Cordelia's mouth and the two fingers she’d deftly slipped inside on a whim. The tingle starts at the base of her stomach and spreads through every limb, exploding lights behind her eyes and igniting every inch of her skin into a whirlpool of pleasure.

When she opens her eyes again, Misty is not sure she’ll ever get over the crystal clear image of Cordelia’s lips gliding over her, nor will she be able to feel anything but the wet fingers that thrust in and out of her to prolong the pleasure. It’s imprinted in her mind now, a delicacy she is allowed to keep and use for her own euphoria.

Cordelia wants to make her come all night, dips her head back down to do so when halted. 

“No, I - I wan’ you up here.”

The request, just like anything else Misty could need, is fulfilled selflessly. If Misty wants the moon, Cordelia will lasso it herself to drag it down.

Lying on their sides, facing each other, Misty’s lips turn up into a sinful grin. Combing her fingers through Cordelia’s hair, she murmurs, “Not now,” as Cordelia’s fingers twitch at her hip, aching desperately to touch her again.

And _not now_ means there’s always _later_ so Cordelia is sated for the time being. “I want to hold you,” she’s saying, so Cordelia pulls her close; torso to torso.

Muffled into Misty’s mop of curls, Cordelia tells her how beautiful she is, how good she feels, how she’ll never love anyone the way she loves Misty.

Whispering similar words of worship, Misty clings to Cordelia like she’ll float away if given the chance. Maybe after the years of dodging each other, she’ll never let go. Being attached to Cordelia seems more like a dream than a punishment. 

Kissing each of Cordelia’s fingers, Misty hums in absolute delight. Cordelia holds her so delicately, like she’s breakable or a piece of fine China she wants to display on her shelf. Truly, she is so much more than that. If Cordelia could keep her locked away in this room for the rest of eternity, for only herself to admire, she would. But Misty is a butterfly, one that needs to be set free. For the first time, though, Cordelia believes she will always float back to her. That thought makes her smile.

Reaching to tuck a lock of Cordelia’s hair behind her ear, Misty nuzzles her nose into the crook of her neck. Smiling, she asks, “Did you ever dream of me?”

“No,” she admits, “but I thought of you every hour of the day like clockwork.”

“You know what this means, right?”

Cordelia looks at her, unable to stop from leaning in and kissing her again. “What’s that?”

“Madison was right. We acted catty all night n’ then fucked it out.”

Burying her face back in Misty’s chest, Cordelia shakes with delirious laughter. 

“Next time, let's skip that first step.”

“Fine with me,” Misty nods very seriously, and finally, for the first time in a long time, she’s settled.

It’s funny, how dreams really can come true.

**Author's Note:**

> every time i get drunk i say fuck it and hit post so leave me a nice comment my future hungover self will appreciate:))))


End file.
